LAY him not in the earth with whom the earth
Has dealt so harshly; there no peace is found,
Where tree-roots blindly pushing in the ground
Would clasp his coffin in their moving girth;
Or where the soil, in labor at the birth
Of some fierce city, would molest the mound
Of his low tenement, or muffled sound
Of tunneling mole trouble the dreamless dearth
Of sleep eternal. Rather lay him deep
In that low grave undigged of any spade,
— Where never sable mourner comes to weep
And tend with pious hand the flowers that fade, —
The many-peopled grave down in the free
Untrodden cemeteries of the sea.